


Take These Broken Wings

by chivalryandgreentea



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Era, Gen, Hurt Lancelot (Merlin), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Platonic Cuddling, Whump, mutual h/c because i am a fiend and cannot be stopped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27564316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chivalryandgreentea/pseuds/chivalryandgreentea
Summary: While on a mission for Arthur, Lancelot and Merlin are attacked by bandits.
Relationships: Lancelot & Merlin (Merlin)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 103





	Take These Broken Wings

“What kept you up last night?” 

Lancelot and Merlin walked side by side in the Darkling Woods, each on their respective missions: Merlin was gathering herbs for Gaius to keep up with the winter season’s inevitable influx of fevers (Arthur being a victim himself), and Lancelot was escorting him to ensure Merlin’s safety and swift return. Something, Merlin noted wryly, which Arthur didn’t seem to worry about when he _wasn’t_ green with nausea and eager to be out of his sickbed.

Merlin glanced at Lancelot, debating whether he should answer the question truthfully. He’d just yawned for what must have been the third time in the last minute, something which he could think of no reasonable explanation for - not one that would fool Lancelot, at least. Merlin grinned to himself at the thought of hiding last night’s triumph from his friend. “A vengeful enchanted boar.”

Lancelot's mild expression turned into one of betrayal. “And you didn’t think to invite me?”

“Time was rather of the essence,” Merlin replied, recalling how he’d both chased and been chased all over the castle grounds, the spells he’d cast being rendered ineffective due to the sheer size and speed of the boar, while Gaius had frantically worked to find Merlin a spell that would return the boar to its usual size. “Besides, it was hardly exciting enough to bother you. Only took a simple shrinking spell once we caught it.”

Lancelot looked doubtful still. “You needn’t ever worry about bothering me, Merlin.”

Merlin hummed vague agreement, distracted for the moment by a small rustling noise to his right. After a careful pause, he dismissed it and turned back to Lancelot, opening his mouth to respond. Merlin only missed being struck by a flying arrow a wisp of a second later because Lancelot shoved him to the ground, his trained reflexes faster than a verbal warning could have been. The arrow whizzed past where Merlin’s head had been only a second ago and pierced the trunk of a tree behind him with a vibrating _twang._

From the corner of his eye Merlin saw Lancelot draw his sword, only just prepared enough to defend himself from the half dozen bandits that came jumping down from over the sides of the ravine by the river and behind the trees. More arrows flew in Merlin’s direction before falling uselessly to the ground from hastily muttered spells. He was forced to turn his attention to a huge bandit running towards him, and was about to cast him off with a stunning spell - but in the next moment he saw Lancelot fall, pinned on his back by two bandits, his sword out of his reach. A bandit wielded a mace over his head, ready to bring it down on Lancelot. 

“ _Ic þé wiþdrífe_!” Merlin shouted, relief overwhelming him as the bandit threatening Lancelot flew back against a boulder and was knocked unconscious. Merlin’s victory lasted only a moment before he was shoved to the ground, the wind knocked out of him as he hit his head hard. His vision swam, and the pounding of his head combined with the sound of metal clanging as Lancelot fought off the remaining bandits rang painfully in Merlin’s ears. He managed to push himself back onto his feet, but took no more than two shaky steps before he was pushed over the edge of the river and into its vicious icy depths. 

“ _Full¯æst me_ ,” Merlin whispered hoarsely as he coughed up water, gasping from the pain of the cold. Seconds later he succumbed to the relentless current, his body unable to keep resisting its strength.

_Help me._

* * *

Breathing hard, Lancelot struggled to his feet from beneath the body of the last bandit he’d been forced to kill, only a hair’s breadth having separated a gleaming knife from Lancelot’s throat. Lancelot forced himself not to look too closely at the slain around him, instead keeping down a knot of panic in his stomach when he saw no sign of Merlin in the clearing he’d ended up in. 

He called for him as he walked till his voice became hoarse. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking for when the pain in his right leg he’d been ignoring became too much to bear. Lancelot felt his head spin as he looked down at it, blanching at the sight of his blood-soaked trousers. Swallowing hard, he tore off a strip of his cape to tie it tightly around his leg, and hoped the bleeding would stop as he continued walking. The pain dulled with each step, though whether this was a good thing Lancelot tried not to think about. After what felt like hours of calling and stumbling through uncooperative shrubbery, Lancelot stopped, leaning his weight against a nearby tree. He breathed heavily, a lump in his throat forming at the persistent dread that Merlin was hurt, or lost. He didn’t let himself think the worst. 

He’d failed to protect Merlin - Merlin, who was only ever set on protecting _him_ , or _Arthur_ , with little regard for his own life until those of his friends were safe. Merlin, who had no one who knew the extent of what he did for others besides Lancelot and Gaius.

Lancelot nearly missed the flickering in the corner of his eyes as he finally straightened to keep moving. There was a pale blue light, thin and wispy as a spider’s thread, shining between the leaves of a young sapling. He reached for it, and it jumped like a playful sprite to avoid his touch, landing and resting on the forest path a few yards ahead. As he looked on, Lancelot saw an entire path lit by dozens of the blue lights. He instinctively knew it was Merlin’s magic. 

And he saw where the lights were leading. 

Lancelot ran along the path, ignoring the throbbing of his leg and the sharp ache all throughout his body, feeling like he might capsize at any moment until he finally reached the river’s edge. Scanning the coursing waters, his heart felt like it was in his throat before he saw Merlin’s red neckerchief, then Merlin’s unconscious form precariously slumped over a fallen tree farther down where the river was more narrow and shallow. 

Without any more pause Lancelot threw off his chainmail and padded gambeson, barely feeling the biting cold on his skin without these layers, and stepped into the water. 

The cold took his breath away, but Lancelot forced himself through the water, pulling Merlin towards him in time before the tree came loose and continued its course down the river. One of its branches scraped against Lancelot’s injured leg as it swept past, and Lancelot bit down a scream to ensure his hold on Merlin didn’t weaken. He dragged Merlin to the riverbank, cold and anxiety flooding his nerves as he tried to revive Merlin. The young warlock’s skin was white, his lips were tinged with blue - but he was alive. 

“Wake up, Merlin,” Lancelot whispered firmly through chattering teeth as he rubbed Merlin’s freezing hands, trying to revive him. “C’mon, you’ll be alright, I promise, but you need to wake up. _Please_.” There was no response from Merlin, so Lancelot tried to pull what little he knew of medicine from spending time in Gaius’ and Merlin’s chambers. All he could think was to wrap Merlin in as many layers as he could and hope for the best. Lancelot took the gambeson and cape he’d cast off into the snow and wrapped them around Merlin’s shivering frame. He picked him up, holding Merlin close to his chest, and staggered toward the path to Camelot, refusing to heed the painful numbness setting in his own limbs from the cold. 

* * *

When Merlin woke up he thought he was drowning. There was a crushing weight on his chest that kept him flat on his back, and his head spun as he strained to lift it. He drew a deep breath and fell into a coughing fit, tears coming to his eyes with the effort it took to breathe in between. 

“Hey, don’t try to get up,” a voice that sounded far away said, and Merlin squinted, suddenly hit all at once with the remembrance of what had happened, as well as the overwhelming ache that had spread all throughout his body. And that was to say nothing of the _cold,_ despite what he felt must be half a dozen heavy blankets covering him. 

“Lancelot?’ Merlin croaked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light of his room, making out his friend’s wide brown eyes before anything else. “What happened?” His lips felt heavy and numb, and he hated the way his voice sounded so small.

“Don’t worry,” Lancelot told him soothingly, “you’ll be alright. It’s been nearly a day since we returned to Camelot, and Gaius knew how to warm you up. All you need now is rest.” As Merlin’s eyes finally came into focus, he saw that Lancelot was half-sitting, half-leaning on the edge of his bed, a huge mass of pillows and blankets on the floor beside him.

Lancelot noticed his gaze, and flushed a little in embarrassment. “I didn’t want you to be alone - Arthur let Gwen bring these over, though she really did overdo it.” He smiled fondly. 

Gaius came in just then, holding a vial in each hand. “Well,” he said, looking directly at Merlin, “hello there. Finally cared to rejoin the land of the living, eh?” 

Merlin grinned at the unusual sight of the old physician’s grave lowered eyebrows. Gaius handed both vials to Lancelot, saying sternly, “One of them’s for you. I expect to see both empty when I return.” Lancelot nodded solemnly as he took them. “The lengths you must go to get a day off,” Gaius said with a fond look as he looked back before shutting the door. 

“Here,” Lancelot said, “drink, or Gaius will be after both of our heads.” He raised the vial to Merlin’s lips, and the bitter stuff going down his throat sent him into another fit of coughing. Lancelot waited patiently, his brow furrowed as he helped Merlin finish the rest. 

Pulling a face, Merlin said, “Your turn.” Lancelot grimaced, but downed the vial, his scrunched up face making Merlin laugh.

Noticing the pinched look on Lancelot’s face behind the laughter and the dark shadows ringing his eyes, Merlin grew serious. “Are you badly hurt?” 

“Don't worry about me,” Lancelot replied, smiling a little in a way that was meant to be reassuring, but was unconvincing. Merlin felt Lancelot’s hand take his own from under the blankets and give it a tight squeeze, and a wave of comfort washed over Merlin. He knew that if he offered to do what he was planning next aloud, Lancelot would never agree. So, he thought determinedly, he would take matters into his own hands. 

Merlin closed his eyes so Lancelot would not see his magic at work and concentrated. Directing his energy on Lancelot, he felt his magic slowly flow through his veins and linger where his and Lancelot’s hands connected. When he opened his eyes he saw the immediate effect it had; Lancelot’s face relaxed, and his hold on Merlin’s hand became less of a death-grip. 

“What have you done?” Lancelot asked, startled, pulling his hand away. “Merlin, don’t waste your strength on me, not when you need it.”

“You need to take care of yourself too,” Merlin said, sighing at Lancelot’s doubtful expression and hypocritical advice. He only regretted his incompetence in healing spells now, because he knew that the simple spell he’d worked for Lancelot would only bring a few moments of relief. He took a deep breath, unable to deny how his use of magic left him feeling more tired than he’d already been. “You should be in your own bed, not on the floor.” 

Lancelot was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you want me to leave?” 

Merlin exhaled slowly. “Of course not. It isn’t right, though.” An idea came to him. “Help me off the bed.” 

“What are you -”

Merlin forced himself to sit up in one burst of energy, and would have fallen right back had Lancelot not been there with his hand on his back to support him. “We’ll drown in blankets on my bed,” Merlin explained, wincing at the cold as those blankets fell away. “And no amount of magic will help us both fit.” He was dizzy from the movement, but he carefully lowered his legs onto the floor, and Lancelot helped him lay back against the cozy nest he’d built for himself. He rested his head on Lancelot’s shoulder as Lancelot pulled the blankets around the both of them. 

Merlin’s eyes gradually grew heavy again, due in no small part to Gaius’ potion, but also from the constant warmth of Lancelot’s body heat. 

“I suppose this is as good a way as any to warm back up,” Lancelot whispered, his eyes already closed when Merlin looked at him, though he didn’t miss the peaceful smile that graced his lips. 

“Mm,” Merlin agreed, letting his eyes droop as he burrowed closer against Lancelot’s chest, “and this way I can see that you’re true to your word and rest.” 

“I’m a man of honor, Merlin,” Lancelot said with a soft laugh, but Merlin had already fallen into a deep, blissful sleep, and didn’t hear it. 


End file.
